Forsake Not The Dream
by hansprinsessa
Summary: Pam gets the chance to ask Godric why he left Eric behind in this world, his answers bringing peace to them both. Paric AU.


**A/N: I love writing Pam and Godric's interaction in my full-length fic, Blessed With A Curse, and I got to thinking about how Godric has appeared to Eric a few times in the past three seasons. I had always thought vampires wouldn't dream, but Eric has dreamed twice now, and Pam dreamed about how they met in season five (le sigh). So, anyway. This happened. I'm going to say this is loosely set after Season 2, not long after Godric's final death. Clearly, this is a Paric fic (not that I'd ever write otherwise) and Sookie Supersnatch is mentioned, but just in passing because nobody cares. And this, obviously, doesn't follow the show to a T, because to be honest, I don't remember much of how S2 ended besides the maenad shenanigans. Anyhoo, enjoy, my darlings.**

* * *

_We learned_  
_What it feels like_  
_To feel pain_  
_For the first time_  
_We learned_  
_What it feels like_  
_To suffer_  
_Feels like to suffer_

_Vanquish that which kills you darling_  
_Forsake not the dream_  
_Through the world I feel I've fallen_  
_Forsake not the dream  
~"Forsake Not The Dream" - Trivium_

"_Dotter_."

Pam freezes at the sound of the soft, achingly familiar whisper, and the nickname she hasn't heard used in decades. Slowly, she raises her blue eyes from the piles of paperwork scattered across the desk to the source of the voice, a freshly manicured finger poised, frozen, over the calculator.

"_Far_," she breathes, leaning back in Eric's chair, shock plainly written across her normally schooled features. She blinks at the little man sitting in one of the chairs facing the desk, one leg crossed casually across his knee, his hands folded neatly in his lap. "You're…"

"Dead?" he finishes for her; that wise, knowing smile curving his lips. "Well, finally, _completely _dead," he says as his hand rises to scratch his chin, the movement causing his white linen tunic to shift, exposing the strange tattoo that encircles his collarbone. "I've been dead for a long time."

"Yes," Pam whispers as she gapes at him, finding herself at a loss for words, an extremely rare occurrence. "How? Am I dreaming?"

"Does it matter, my child?" he asks quietly.

"Would it matter to you if you thought you were losing your fucking mind?"

He snorts as he uncrosses his legs, placing his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his fist as he looks her over, his affection for the vampiress before him clearly visible in his steely grey eyes. "Language, Pamela," he chides softly.

"Oh, please," she huffs, tossing the pen still clutched in her hand down on the desk, sitting up slightly in Eric's oversized desk chair. "You've shown up in my dream to tell me how to speak? You're just as bossy as Eric."

She quiets as she sees pain flicker across her grand-sire's face at the mention of his progeny, only for a brief moment before it's gone again. "Yes," he says, a playful smile beginning to creep across his face, "Eric picked up a few less than desirable traits from me over the years." His smile widens as he studies her for a split second before he adds, "And you from him."

"My sexual prowess, Godric?" she asks with a smile.

"Sexual prowess, yes. Also, your attitude. And a most unladylike way of speaking."

"When have I _ever _claimed to be a lady?" she says with a laugh.

"Touché, my dear. Touché."

They lapse into silence for a moment, Pam watching him closely as he regards her in return. It had been decades since she laid eyes on the vampire before her, the only vampire she had ever cared for besides her beloved maker; not since the last time Eric had scampered off with him to some far corner of the world. Germany, if she's not mistaken; during the war.

A decade or so after she was turned, Eric had taken her to meet him, eager to introduce the progeny he was so proud of to the maker that he so adored. She had been _terrified _to meet the man that had turned Eric into what he was almost a thousand years before; Eric spending what seemed to be the entire long journey warning her over and over again, droning _on and on _about being on her absolute best behavior in his presence. That she must be respectful. That, although he allowed her free rein to be her normal, snarky self, she was to be polite, mind her manners. Not to speak unless spoken to. Reminding her that his maker had supreme control over Eric himself, and ultimately, over her; and that any order he gave, Eric had to follow without question.

By the time they arrived, she was all but a nervous wreck. Already afraid of this vampire, so ancient and powerful it boggled her mind, scared that he would end her, or worse, force Eric to, if she stepped one foot out of line.

But whatever she was expecting when she finally met him was not what she got. Not at all.

He looked like…a boy. Harmless, but for the power she could feel exuding from him. A child, except for his eyes, which gave away his age. Eric introduced them and, clutching Eric's arm, she stood stock-still as Godric circled her, inspecting her from head to toe in silence.

She was quaking in her boots, but she kept her chin up proudly as he appraised her. She knew she looked impeccable in the dress Eric had gotten made for her specifically for this occasion for an astronomical price. So deep red it almost looked black; the ruby necklace and matching earrings he had surprised her with that night when they rose, waking to find them already adorning her body, sparkling darkly in the dim candlelight.

And proud, because she knew who she was. She was the only progeny of the great Eric Northman, the woman always adorning his arm. The woman he loved. She was, and always would be, _extremely_ proud of that fact.

"She's breathtaking," Godric had said, the first words she ever heard him utter in that soft, soothing, almost musical voice of his. "You chose well, my son."

"I agree," Eric replied as he gazed down at her, flashing her that blinding, toothy grin, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "Breathtaking," he repeated.

They had spent almost ten years with him after that night. Godric was a different vampire back then from what she heard he became in his final years, but she had learned, after spending time with him, that even in those days he was a gentle, kind man. He treated her well, and had quickly grown to adore her. Naturally, her being on her _best behavior_ didn't stick for long, but Godric never seemed to mind. In fact, he embraced it. He enjoyed her sharp tongue, her even sharper wit, and eventually Eric stopped barking at her every time she sassed him.

Godric loved her because Eric loved her. Nothing in all his years had made him happier than seeing that his child had finally met his match; seeing him so enamored with the bright young woman he chose to make his own.

In fact, when it came time to go their separate ways, she had begged Eric to stay. But he insisted it was time to move on, and with the promise of travelling the world with him, she agreed.

Godric was never, though, far from their thoughts, or even their conversation. Eric spoke of him often, always fondly; his eyes taking on a wistful look whenever he did. She could recall many mornings, her body nestled in the crook of his arm in the wee hours before sunrise as he whispered stories of he and Godric's adventures, terrorizing the planet, long before she was even born.

She could feel him in the blood coursing through her veins, in their bond; feel how much he loved his maker, every time he spoke of him. She knew then, at only a couple of decades of age, how much she loved _her _maker. How she would do anything for him. How, to her, he hung the very moon they existed under, convinced that the sun rose and set when _he _told it to. She couldn't imagine how that would grow after a thousand years of sharing their bond.

And she could never have imagined how it would feel, after a thousand years, to lose that bond, until she felt it.

He was so far away from her when it happened. So far out of her reach.

A one thousand year old being _feels_ on a mind-bending level. Love, hatred, lust, sorrow; every emotion Eric has ever experienced runs through her like a freight train, feeling everything on a higher plane that even now, at a century old, she is still unable to process. She had been subjected to it her whole existence, and she loved it.

But, if she lived to be Godric's age herself, she hopes she never feels what she felt that morning, moments after she settled herself into her bed just before sunrise. Feeling guilty even as she wished for the sun to take her away from it, to spare her from it: what Eric felt when he lost him. What he _still_ feels. The pain that she can't take away, that she can't bear for him. If she could, she would. A thousand times over.

She would never forget the look in his eyes the night he came home from Dallas. She didn't need to ask what had happened, of course. Nothing else would have affected him so, not even her own demise.

He had burst into the home they share in Shreveport, wild eyed, so _desperate_. For her, for the comfort only she had ever provided him with. Not even Godric, not that annoying fucking faery he was growing somewhat obsessed with. Only _her_.

She had been sitting there cross-legged on the couch, only able to stare blankly at the door. Knowing, _feeling_ he was coming, and completely awash, engulfed, in his sorrow, suffocating under the weight of his anguish. She wanted to stand. To go to him, to put her arms around him, but she couldn't move. For what seemed like an eternity, he stood in the doorway as she remained seated, their eyes locked, their bond communicating all the things they never say out loud. He, studying her tear-streaked face, and she, begging him with her eyes to tell her she was wrong, mistaken. That what she thought, _knew, _had happened, hadn't. Her bond, her relationship, with her grand-sire was nowhere near that of he and Eric's.

But she loved him, too.

With great effort, she was barely able to whisper his name, breaking the spell they were under. In the blink of an eye, he was standing before her, towering over her. She could feel his gaze, but she was no longer able to meet his eyes. Instead, she focused on his hands, clenched into tight fists at his side as he struggled to maintain his control. She could feel it, warring within him, all but choking her in its intensity. Tentatively, she had reached for him, not entirely sure how he would react. She had never seen him like that in a century at his side, and knew she never would again.

She took one of his hands, still balled into a fist, into both of her own, focusing on the task of straightening his curled fingers. Bringing his hand to her lips, she had placed a soft kiss against his palm, then pressing it to her blood-stained cheek, before braving a glance up at his face. The grief she saw in his eyes would haunt her as long as she walked this earth.

And then he was on his knees, wrapping his arms around her slender waist, burying his face in her lap, her fingers soothingly running through his blonde hair as he finally let go. Giving into his despair, in the only safe place he had left.

"Pamela," Godric's soft voice suddenly interrupts her memories, "You're glaring at me, my dear."

"How could you do that to him, Godric?" she whispers, her voice shaking. "How could you leave him?"

"It was time, child," he explains softly, his wise eyes pinning her with his gaze, "I had walked this earth far too long. You cannot imagine the weight I carried on my shoulders."

Feeling her anger rising, she bites back, "It doesn't matter. He loved you. He _worshiped _you."

"And I loved him, _dotter_," Godric replies with a small smile that turns wistful. "He is the only thing I did in my well over two thousand years that I was proud of."

"But yet you abandoned him."

"Pamela," he says, exasperation seeping into his tone, "You must understand…"

"Fuck that," she says, suddenly on her feet, "_You _must fucking understand." She cringes internally, knowing Eric taught her better than to speak to her sire this way, but that doesn't stop her next words from spilling out of her mouth. "You _abandoned _him. He _needs _you, Godric, and you just left him. How could you be so selfish? He told me he wanted to stay with you. He wanted to die at your side." Her voice climbs even higher as her fists clench. "My maker is the strongest, greatest man I've ever known, and you reduced him to begging to die. To wishing he was dead."

"Pamela," he repeats, "I would never have allowed that to happen. I commanded him to—"

"Exactly," she hisses, leaning forward to rest her hands on the desk in front of her, "You had to command him to live. I would have lost him, too."

"He would not have…"

"Yes," she interrupts sharply, "He would have. I would have lost you _both._"

"Do you think my commands have hold over him still, Pamela? Now that I am gone?"

"How the fuck should I know?"

"They do not, darling. He chooses to stay here," he says, his eyes imploring her to calm down, to listen, and almost despite herself, the attack stance she had unconsciously taken relaxes slightly. "I cannot count the times I had to drill into his thick skull, over and over, that a vampire cannot be at the mercy of his or her emotions." He eyes her silently for a moment before continuing, "Something I am positive he only had to tell you once. But even after a thousand years, he did not learn. Eric never gave up that part of his humanity. He would do anything for those that he loves. For me. And for you, my dear."

"Your point?" she asks.

"My point, _min dotter_, is that he acted rashly that morning. He was thinking with his heart, and not with his brain."

"You assume too much, Sire," she growls. "You can't feel him any longer. _I can._ You have no idea what he's been through since you left him. He will _never _be the same…" She stops, attempting to collect herself, to will away the tears she can feel welling in her eyes. "You told him we that we're not right. That we don't belong here."

"I do not believe we do," he answers, finally averting his penetrating gaze under the weight of her own.

"But we _are_ here," she almost shouts, her voice breaking as she unknowingly echoes her maker's own words from that fateful morning on that rooftop in Dallas. "If Eric Northman isn't right, what is, Godric?" She raises a hand to her face, swiping angrily at the tears that have begun to fall, much to her dismay. "He's everything, _everything _right in this fucked up world. And you told him what he _is _isn't good enough. How could you do that to him? How can you say you love him, and that you're proud of him, and yet let _that _be your parting words?"

"I…" he begins, but she cuts him off.

"I don't want to hear it," she snarls, "You abandoned him. Abandoned _us. _I watch him every night, wondering if the coming sunrise will be the one he will walk out into, Godric. If tonight's the night he'll decide he can't bear the weight of the pain you put him through any longer. And I'm helpless. I can't take away the pain _you _put him in when you left him alone—"

"Pamela," Godric interrupts, his steely eyes sharp, his voice more stern than she has ever heard it, "I did _not _leave Eric alone." He gives her a pointed look, before he continues, his voice softening. "I cannot endeavor to explain to one so young how _tired _I was of this life. I hope, if you live as long as I, that you would not feel the burden the way I lived my life left me with. I would never have asked Eric to let me go, had I not have known he would be taken care of."

Pam is silent for a moment, before she sinks into the chair behind the desk again, wiping her eyes as she whispers, "I can't take care of him, Godric."

"You can," he whispers back, "You can, and you do. You love him, as only I have ever loved him."

"It's not enough," she says sadly, "I can't fix the hole you left in his heart."

"You are right, my dear, you cannot," he agrees, nodding slightly. "The bond a progeny has with his maker can never be replaced. You cannot fix that hole, but you can fill it. He loves you, Pamela."

Her eyes are downcast as she speaks, "I know he does."

"I could feel it, you know," he says softly, "the war within him that morning. And you would have won, rather you believe it or not."

Her eyes rise to meet his once again, as she asks, curious, "What do you mean?"

"His need to end his life for me, versus his need to live. For you."

Pam can only stare at him, stunned, silence falling between them for a few moments before she asks, "How do you know?"

Godric smiles, albeit slightly. "I know him inside and out. As you do, do you not?"

She nods. "Yes."

"I told him once, so long ago, that becoming a maker is an eternal commitment."

She smiles softly, remembering Eric saying those exact words the night he turned her, never knowing that they were words his own maker had uttered. "And?"

"And," he says as he stands, slowly ambling around the desk, leaning against it directly in front of her, "Eric took those words to heart. More so than the man who taught him that lesson." He reaches out to her, cupping her cheek, the corners of his mouth quirking up just a bit as she closes her eyes, leaning into his touch. "He would never leave you, child. You are his, for eternity. Even as he begged me to allow him to die at my side, he knew he could not leave you to walk this earth alone. I could feel it. Ask him, my sweet girl. Ask him for yourself, for your peace of mind. He will make it through this. You both will. Together_. _He needs you as much as you need him, you must never forget that." For a moment, they stay like that, his thumb softly caressing her cheek as he gazes down at her; older and wiser than she was when they first met, but to him, still that young, beautiful new vampire clutching onto his progeny's arm, wide-eyed and afraid. "Pamela, look at me…"

"Pam. Pam. _Pamela, _look at me."

Her eyes fly open to find, not two grey eyes, but two icy blue ones, inches from her own. She's silent as Eric's large hands cup her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears she can feel leaving trails of wetness on her cheeks.

"Eric?" she croaks, her confusion clearing as her eyes dart around Fangtasia's office, before taking in her maker, on his knees before her, his concern for her plainly written on his handsome face.

"What has happened, kärlek?" he whispers.

"I…" she begins, before trailing off. What _did _happen?

She watches as his hands drop from her cheeks to her lap, taking hold of both of her small hands in his much larger ones, bringing one up to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against her knuckles. She watches his every move, not brave enough to look into his eyes.

"Pamela," he asks, more forcefully this time, "Tell me what is wrong."

She swallows thickly, steeling herself for his answer before she asks, "Would you have done it, if he had let you, Eric? Would you have died with Godric? Met the sun?"

A flash of pain sears white-hot through their bond, reflecting on his face, at the mention of his maker, his hands tightening almost painfully around hers as he rocks back on his heels, but he never once breaks eye contact with her.

"I wanted to," he answers softly, honestly, before he asks in an uncharacteristically small voice, "Why do you ask me this, Pamela?"

"I saw him," she whispers, "vår far."

"Saw him?" he repeats, questioning.

"Yes," she breathes, "I dreamed of him, Eric. How is that possible?"

He stares at her in silence for so long she begins to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny, before he finally asks, quietly, "What did he say to you?"

"You first," she asks stubbornly, desperate for his answer.

He remains silent, his eyes searching hers, so similar to his own, his thumbs stroking the backs of her hands. Finally, he takes a deep, unneeded breath before he speaks, his voice heavily accented. "I could not leave you."

"He commanded you to go," she breathes.

Shaking his head slightly, he whispers, "He said the words, but he did not command me."

"What?" she questions, confused.

Eric sighs, releasing her hands, his own palms coming to rest on her thighs, exposed to his cool touch by the miniscule leather skirt she wore for her duties that night at the club. For a moment, she watches in silence as he struggles to find the words to say, his hands beginning to rub her skin softly, his eyes dropping to follow their movements. "At first, I wanted nothing more than to go with him, Pamela. A thousand years, I belonged to him. I could not imagine…"

She nods, knowing she would want the same, if it were her. "I know."

His eyes raise to her face again. "The sun was rising. The horizon was brightening. I was on my knees, my maker was telling me goodbye, and I wanted to die, Pamela." She sucks in a sharp breath, wanting to beg him to stop, not wanting to hear him say these words, to see the hollow look in those eyes that have always been so full of life. But before she can, he continues. "I did not want him to die alone. I wanted to burn beside him."

"Eric," she gasps, feeling cold tears trailing down her cheeks again, his words feeling like a knife to her heart.

His hands tightening on her thighs silence her, before he reaches up, brushing away her tears, continuing quietly, "My maker was telling me goodbye," he repeats, "I was looking up into his eyes, älskling, and all I could see was you."

A sob escapes her lips, her gaze dropping as she looks down at her lap, the floor, anywhere but his eyes, until his finger hooks under her chin, gently turning her face back up to his. "It was you," he whispers, his eyes imploring her to believe his words, "It was my thoughts of you that tore me from him, sent me seeking shelter from the sun. You, Pamela," he says, his voice firm as his eyes search hers, "not Godric's command. You saved me from that fate."

"Why?" she questions in a low voice.

"I promised you," he answers softly, "I would always protect you. Always love you. Always be there for you, no matter what. A lot has changed over the last century, Pamela, but not that. Never that."

She's silent for a moment, before she whispers, "I don't know how to help you, Eric. I don't know how to take care of you, to take care of this. Godric said…" She trails off, swallowing hard. "Godric said I could. He said I can, and I do…"

"You do, Pamela," he interrupts, "More than I could ever ask for."

"Eric, I…" she begins, before she cuts herself off, completely overwhelmed by her feelings for the man kneeling before her. Overwhelmed by his strength, when she herself would have crumbled under the weight of her sorrow. Overwhelmed by his love, that unique mixture known only to them: the depth of love and devotion one has for a lover of over a century, mixed with the undying, infallible, unconditional love of a parent. _Stronger than any marriage, deeper than any human bond_, he had said to her all those years ago. Words that she now knows came directly from his maker's lips, the man they both loved together, and lost together.

He could have taken the easy way out. He could have greeted the sunlight with open arms, that morning, or any thereafter. But he had stayed. Not for himself. Not for that bucktoothed, hillbilly waitress he occasionally chased around. But for _her_, and her alone. Because he knew how much she needs him. And she knows how much he needs her, now more than ever.

"Thank you."

The words escape her lips in a breath, tears rolling freely down her cheeks as she reaches for him, sliding from the chair she sits in and into his lap, her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders as her lips find his neck, pressing kisses against his cool skin over and over as she whispers, "Thank you, thank you, _thank you."_

She can feel his strong arms surrounding her, one hand spanning her back as he crushes her small body against his chest, his other hand almost completely circling the back of her neck, both of them holding on to the other as if they might vanish if they weren't anchored together.

"Pam," he whispers, but her broken voice interrupts him, muffled against his skin.

"He said we can make it through this," she murmurs, her lips trailing along his jaw.

His hand slides up into her hair, softly tugging on her blonde locks until she pulls away to meet his eyes, still so full of his pain, of his sorrow; but also his conviction as he speaks. "Godric was a wise man."

"He said you need me as much as I need you," she whispers, her eyes locked on his.

"I _do _need you, Pamela," he says softly, his hands rising to cup her face, gently brushing away the tears that still fall, "More than you will ever know. More than ever, min kärlek."

He leans in then, his lips brushing hers gently at first, his hands still cupping her blood-stained cheeks. Her fingers slowly wind into his hair at the nape of his neck as she presses her lips against his more fully, his tongue softly brushing her lower lip, begging for entrance that she immediately grants.

"So sweet," he croons against her lips as he tastes her, his fingers slipping back into her hair, tilting her head back as he deepens their kiss, her own hands sliding down to his shoulders, pulling him closer.

His ancient mind wanders as he breaks away from her lips, kissing and nibbling down her neck, the almost inaudible gasp escaping her like music to his ears. He wants to ask what else Godric said to her. How he explained his actions, his reasons to her. But when he pulls away, it's not a question on his lips, it's a statement; a promise.

"Pamela," he whispers, his fingers hooking into the laces of the corset she's wearing, "You need to know…" He trails off as he pulls sharply, tearing the top lace in two, and then the next, watching as her breasts that the corset just barely contained begin to spill forth, lowering his lips to the soft, milky skin he uncovers as he speaks, "I will never do to you what he did to me." He pulls again, ripping the next two laces, completely exposing her to him, his fangs descending as he growls quietly at the sight of her perfect breasts.

Moving so quickly she can hardly follow, he bands an arm around her waist, rising to his feet in one smooth motion, before one swipe of his muscular forearm clears the desk of all its clutter.

"Eric!" she gasps as he lays her gently on the desk, turning her head to watch her neat, organized piles of paperwork as they flutter carelessly to the floor.

"Hush, woman," he rumbles, leaning over her body, swirling his cool tongue around her nipple as he reaches between them, first ripping away the lacy scrap of fabric that serves as her panties, before freeing himself from his jeans. Without further preamble, he buries his length inside her, overwhelmed by his need to feel her, to feel something besides the pain he had been living with since he lost his maker. His large hands grip her hips, pulling her towards him as he silences her moan with his lips.

"Never," he growls as he begins to move, grinding his hips into hers, "Never will I leave you alone." Releasing her waist, he leans down, bringing their upper bodies flush, bracing his elbows on his desk as he cradles her head in his hands, his fingers winding in her hair, his hips never stopping their slow assault.

His eyes bore into hers as he assures her, assures himself; his voice harsh, "I will never leave your side willingly, Pamela, and never will you leave mine. Do you understand me?"

For a moment, she's silent, before she finally answers. "We'll be okay, Eric," she whispers, and his pace falters as he looks down at her, seeing the softness in her eyes.

_His safe place._

He nods, leaning down to kiss her softly, gently; realizing for himself what his maker already knew. She's his safe place, his soft place to fall. The caring hands Godric left him in; not abandoning him when he couldn't carry on, as he had thought. She, not Godric, would take care of him, love him, for eternity.

"Yes," he finally murmurs against her lips as he slowly begins to move again, holding her tightly to him, as tightly as she holds on to him. "Yes, min älskade, we will."

* * *

**A/N: Youch, that one hurt. Review?**

**Le Swedish:**

**Dotter – Daughter**

**Far – Father**

**Kärlek – Love**

**Vår far – Our father**

**Älskling – darling, sweetheart**

**min älskade – my beloved**


End file.
